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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24062566">Porcelain Figurine</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/IveynAdler/pseuds/IveynAdler'>IveynAdler</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera &amp; Related Fandoms, Phantom of the Opera (2004), Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adorable, Children, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Erik Has Feelings, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, One Shot, Presents, Short, Short &amp; Sweet, Short One Shot, Surprises, Tooth-Rotting Fluff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 18:54:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,097</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24062566</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/IveynAdler/pseuds/IveynAdler</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A short, fairytale-like story about the first Christmas of Erik and still young Christine.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Christine Daaé &amp; Erik | Phantom of the Opera</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Porcelain Figurine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/17199806">Porcelanowa Figurka</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/IveynAdler/pseuds/IveynAdler">IveynAdler</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>As always: very special thanks to Maddy, my beta reader!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was a beautiful winter evening. Delicate snowflakes fell from the sky, spinning. It would seem that they danced some strange, snow waltz. One, two, three, one, two, three! The dance lasted, prolonged by the wind, which every now and then pushed the peculiar dancers up, dictating on them faster and faster pace. But sooner or later, each of the snow particles finally fell to the ground, covering Paris with a white blanket, similar to a sparkling lace. Frost covered the windows with flower-like patterns with precision, which every painter can only dream about...<br/><br/>But there was also something else to it, something more than just a fairy-tale landscape. Families gathered together in their homes, and you could see smiles on people's faces. There was the smell of spruce twigs in the air, the fire crackled cheerfully in the fireplaces, and the sound of silver bells could be heard around.<br/><br/>It wasn't just an ordinary winter evening. It was Christmas Eve.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>However, not everyone gave in to the magical atmosphere of this special holiday. In particular, a certain masked man, hidden in one of the many secret hiding places and corridors of which the Paris opera house was full, couldn't feel it. Erik wasn't at all cheerful or calm - on the contrary, with every passing minute his mood was only getting worse and worse.<br/><br/>A young orphan, Christine, came to the opera house a few months ago and he began teaching her, claiming to be an Angel of Music sent by her late father.. Everything was going well... until this particular evening. This Christmas Eve Christine didn't come to the lesson.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Initially, Erik was slightly annoyed. Later, when an hour passed, he began to worry. Why wasn't she here yet? Had he done something wrong? Had he offended her in some way during their last meeting? However, time passed, and Christine still didn't appear. After three hours, anger took the place of concern - at this point Erik was only furious.<br/><br/>Having enough of waiting, he decided to find out himself the reason for his pupil's absence. Moving through the hidden corridors, he slowly searched the opera house until something caught his attention. Voices could be heard from the quarters in which girls learning ballet, such as Christine, slept. He decided to check it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>What he saw, looking into the room through a special, hidden mechanism, caused all rage to leave him immediately.<br/><br/>Madam Giry was bending over the bed where the little girl lay, the only one of the children who wasn't asleep yet. There was an unhealthy blush on the small, pale face. Dark curls stick to the sweaty forehead, and the child's eyes were unnaturally glassy...<br/><br/>Christine, for it was her, had a fever.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The feeling of guilt seized Erik's heart - how could he be angry with her for such a trivial reason while she was suffering? However, his regret didn't last long, because the next words of Madame Giry made his anger come back, although this time the reason was a bit different.<br/><br/>"You can only blame yourself," the woman said in a low but stern tone. ''Going outside in the middle of winter without even a coat... No wonder you're sick now. Fortunately, it doesn't look like anything serious...''</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Erik clenched his fists in rage. How could Christine be so reckless?</p>
<p> <br/>Soon Madame Giry blew out the candle and left. The room was plunged in semi-darkness. Christine sighed. She knew that what she had done was unreasonable, but she really had to leave - it was very, very important! She regretted that everything had happened this way, but she couldn't change anything now. She closed her eyes and settled down to sleep like the other girls.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"<em>Christine...</em>" a voice, no louder than a whisper, broke the night's silence.<br/><br/>The girl opened her eyes and sat on the bed. She looked around but didn't see anything unusual among the evening shadows - everyone were in a deep sleep. That meant that it must have been someone else...<br/><br/>''Angel?'' she asked uncertainly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>''<em>Yes, it's me...</em>'' the mysterious voice spoke again. ''<em>You didn't show up at todays lesson. The reason is quite obvious, but I would like to know something else... I wonder what was <strong>so urgent</strong> that you had to, against all reason, run into the cold without any coat...</em>''</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Christine winced at the harsh tone of her Angel. She lowered her head, but didn't say a word.</p>
<p><br/>''<em>I'm waiting ... What was so important?</em>''</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"A gift for you..." Christine finally confessed in a barely audible whisper as the prolonged silence made it clear to her that she wouldn't be able to avoid the answer.<br/><br/>''<em>What?</em>'' astonishment could be heard in her teacher's voice.<br/><br/>''It's Christmas, so I went out to buy you a present...'' she said.</p>
<p>Christine looked at the table next to her bed. And indeed - a small porcelain figurine stood there perfectly visible in the moonlight. Although one of the wings was a bit too crooked, and the hands holding the lyre a bit too small, it was easy to recognize who it was supposed to represent. The girl waited for her guardian's reaction, but the answer she had expected didn't come. Silence fell once more in the room.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Christine felt a surge of panic. Did the Angel not like her gift? Should she have bought it at all? Or maybe you don't give presents to the angels? Had she done something wrong? And what if she angered her guardian so much that he would leave her now and find another student?<br/><br/>''Angel!'' She cried, but remembering the sleeping girls she quickly lowered her voice. ''Angel? Angel, are you angry with me?''</p>
<p> </p>
<p>''<em>No... No, I'm not! It's just... You should go to sleep.''</em><br/><br/>Something clearly changed in the voice of her teacher, but Christine couldn't exactly determine the nature of that change. She just nodded her head.<br/><br/>''Will you sing for me?'' she asked quietly, uncertain whether her request would be fulfilled.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"<em>Of course...</em>" came a gentle answer.<br/><br/>That night, Christine fell asleep listening to the sweetest lullaby you can imagine.<br/><br/>However, this was not the end of our story.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The next morning, Christine opened her eyes, feeling much better. She glanced toward the table where the figurine should be standing... and she froze as she saw the pile of gifts waiting for her. However, the figurine itself was nowhere to be seen...<br/><br/>Indeed, you could ask: what happened to it?<br/><br/>Well, the answer is quite simple - deep underground, Erik was playing on the organ, and a small porcelain angel stood proudly at his side.</p>
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